


Digne's Grocery

by MrsEDarcy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Javert and Valjean being Dads, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsEDarcy/pseuds/MrsEDarcy
Summary: The Valvert Grocery AU that no one ever asked for!A story told entirely through the trips that the characters from Les Mis take to their local grocery store.The first time the pair of them entered the grocery store, all attention was drawn to them whether they wanted it to be or not.One wore a suit that he looked mildly uncomfortable in and his smile seemed a little weak and weary. He kept glancing around as if someone was going to appear suddenly and attack him then and there. Objectively it appeared that any attack would surely have failed given the absolute massiveness of the man, or the police officer currently beside him.The officer was solid, tall, and frowning. He was nowhere near as muscled as the other, but there was no doubt that he could have quickly apprehended anyone attempting to abscond with something. He seemed to be under the impression that someone would by the way he glared around the door. He kept his hand on the elbow of the other man applying a slight, almost indiscernible pressure to drive him forward.





	Digne's Grocery

The first time the pair of them entered the grocery store, all attention was drawn to them whether they wanted it to be or not.

One wore a suit that he looked mildly uncomfortable in and his smile seemed a little weak and weary. He kept glancing around as if someone was going to appear suddenly and attack him then and there. Objectively it appeared that any attack would surely have failed given the absolute massiveness of the man, or the police officer currently beside him.

The officer was solid, tall, and frowning. He was nowhere near as muscled as the other, but there was no doubt that he could have quickly apprehended anyone attempting to abscond with something. He seemed to be under the impression that someone would by the way he glared around the door. He kept his hand on the elbow of the other man applying a slight, almost indiscernible pressure to drive him forward.

They stopped at the customer service desk and inquired after an appointment with the manager. They both looked at the pictures of banned customers; one with a hardened face, the other with a sheepish expression. After a minute, the man in the suit sighed and the police officer pressed into the man's elbow in a way that was not quite a manner of restraint. There was a small smile in the exchange that was more like a grimace.

When the manager came out to speak to them, the broad man gulped very slightly before speaking. “This is most likely highly unusual sir, but…” he dug around in his pocket for a wallet. “Several years ago, I was caught shoplifting from your store. I would like to pay you back.”

The manager looked at the money being proffered with a confused expression. Then he turned to the officer. “You really did not need to accompany this man here. He seems an honest enough sort.”

“I told him as such,” the officer conceded, “but he would not come without me.” The officer should have probably looked annoyed, but instead his face indicated a sense of resignation, as if this was a situation he found himself in often with the other man.

“In any case good sir,” the man said with a smile, “I do not want your money. You have already been forgiven.”

The man in the suit looked dejected. “Sir, I must insist. I can more than afford it now.”

There was a shake of the head. “I will not accept your money. If it eases your conscience, you may donate money to the orphanage that our store supports.”

“An orphanage?”

“The Myriel Center for Abandoned Youth. It’s affiliated with the local Roman Catholic Church, and named for the bishop who started it.”

“Would you know how an interested person could volunteer? Or even just donate?”

“Not of the top of my head, but if you give me your information I could give it to someone who would know better.”

A genuine smile came across the man’s face. “The name is Jean Valjean, I own the sustainable t-shirt plant that recently opened up a branch here in town.” He pulled a slightly bent business card out of his wallet. “This should be everything someone needs to get in contact with me. If there’s anything else that you can think of, I believe we are going to be gathering supplies for tonight’s dinner.”

The pair walked away, discussing steak and red wine, the hand on the elbow disengaging in favor of a shopping basket and notepad. Still, however, they walked closely arms often brushing slightly more than necessary. Valjean seemed to be a little more confident and animated; whereas his companion seemed slightly less severe even as rigid as he was.

* * *

 

Somehow they had become regulars at the Digne’s Grocery quite quickly. When asked about their constant presence, Valjean often waved it off as being because of his love of fresh, organic vegetables. Whether the reasoning was true or not, they would be in three times a week without fail. On Tuesdays and Thursdays the pair would be dressed in their respective uniforms, a little haggard from work but still alive and functioning. Saturdays were different with them dressed in casual fare.

Sometimes it seemed that outfit coincided with the groceries. On uniform days many of the purchases seemed more fancy than practical. There would be steak or fish or chicken breasts, red wine, a little pastry from the bakery, and a bit of bread. There would be more glances from the police officer to the lanes that sold tobacco products, while his companion slipped gum into the basket. The pair would impulse buy lip balm, batteries, or a deck of cards as they waited.

T-shirt days meant a healthier diet. Valjean would find himself steered away from bread by his companion, who he in turn kept from picking up some dessert. The basket was often filled to the brim with vegetables and fruit, maybe a lean protein or two. Carbohydrates became whole-grain, whole milk became skim, and yogurt became Greek. The officer would still glance at the tobacco aisle, but he would often twirl his fingers around the hem of the other’s shirt or chew on breath mints instead.

The first time the pair arrived in button downs and sweaters it was still a bit too warm. They would look happy, if a touch tired. They would purchase coffee, ice cream, and all the other indulgences they would not allow themselves on a normal basis. The officer watched Valjean serenely whenever his back was turned, and it seemed that the two were never out of contact with the other. They lingered slightly too long in the less busy aisles and looked at liquid concealer with trained eyes. If they looked sheepish as two different shades of makeup were scanned, then who could blame them?

They were great customers. Not too quiet, but they kept their voices down when they disagreed. They argued often, but in the jovial tones of people who had found a worthy intellectual adversary. Valjean would always pay and he would always donate at least twenty dollars to any charity asked about at the register. The pair never signed the little shapes seriously. Donations were made by The Muffin Man, or Santa Claus, or Victor Hugo. And often the store seemed just a little happier when they left.

* * *

 

The first time the officer is by himself, employees glance worriedly in his direction. But he does not seem sad, more nervous and distracted. No one knows his name, because he was never one for introductions and he never paid before and no one had ever been brave enough to get close enough to read the name on his uniform. His basket shook almost imperceptibly as he reached for red wine, hesitating before he grabbed the same one the pair always bought. He did not get his favorite dessert, but instead went for rich rolls and high quality butter. There is expensive asparagus and red potatoes. He thumbed through his phone muttering about pinches of salt or what on earth was apple cider vinegar.

As he approached the checkout, his eyes glanced up at the tobacco products in a way they hadn’t in eight months. He almost moved to ask, but quickly shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out a piece of gum instead. There is no conversation as he watches each individual item register on the screen. The officer seemed preoccupied, with his left hand clenched inside his pocket. There is an odd flash in the mind of the cashier as he moved to pay and they seem dumbfounded by a different card than usual. In hindsight, no one is quite sure why they thought he would still use the other’s debit card. The name on the receipt is Javert, but the glance was so brief that it could not be determined if it was the first or last name. Instead the officer became Javert and Javert only in the minds of the staff.

They come in on that Tuesday, and the entire staff is straining to look for something. There's not any hickeys, nor rings, nor anything out of the usual. The staff holds their breath as the pair approaches the bakery counter. There is an quiet entreaty about if they make wedding cakes, and a sudden burst of cheer erupts from the staff almost simultaneously. The couple tense in surprise, but one softens into a smile and the other a smirk.

Hands wind their way together as the pair talk about how it'll be soon, courthouse most likely, three tiers preferably. There's a brief discussion, or maybe it was an argument, over flavors. Javert supports his case for the decadent chocolate that he so often chooses for dessert. Valjean wants something more subtle, not having the same sweet tooth. Some of the newer staff glance between them as if expecting the relationship to end then and there. Instead they settle on one tier of chocolate, one of red velvet, and would it be too terribly difficult to have the third layer be a marble of the two?

They never do decide on an icing. Valjean apologizes for wasting everyone's time, promising to officially order the cake on Thursday. Quietly one of the younger employees asks if they could come to the wedding. Valjean makes a face, and the girl immediately goes to apologize for being so presumptuous.

“I'm afraid you have caught me off guard. The invitations are at the printers still. We should have them soon.”

Javert looks as startled as the staff at this admission, but then he laughs softly and tugs the other man closer. “Why ever did you not ask? I would begrudge you nothing.” Employees all avert their eyes for reasons they know not.

The invitations they all receive feel rather personal. Though the staff is small, maybe forty in number, it still seems impossible that none were forgotten. There's an odd dread to read the names and nobody's quite sure why. It might be that no one wants to know if Javert is a first or a last name. It might be that there were so many unanswered questions that they had been making their own answers to and hated to be disappointed.

The card was plain, but elegant. It listed the date as a Monday. The venue for the reception, a conference room in the factory. Instead of gifts the couple would prefer donations to go to the orphanage. Casual dress is fine. There would be no alcohol, because they had invited some children as well. However, the odd thing was the name of the couple. In its place stood an old photo of them, just kind of making eye contact. It was at least two years old, dating from before they had even become a couple, evidence even pointed to dislike. No one is quite sure who took the picture before someone remembers a news article about a police officer almost decking a former convict in the face. The significance of the event is not lost. It was a second meeting, fate, a beginning. Entangled around is the phrase : “You often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it.”  
The wedding didn't feel real until they arrived one day with black bands on their fingers acting like nothing had ever changed.

* * *

 

They looked nervous. They had hardly ever looked nervous before. The past several months had been leisurely strolls, holding hands, and words so reverent that hearing them felt like blasphemy.

This day was different. There were words going a mile a minute as Valjean shoved copious amounts of food into one of the few carts the store had. “What on earth do children eat?”

“We cannot take all five Jean.”

“Is Gavroche still on formula?”

“Our house is not big enough for five children. There are only three bedrooms!”

“I can build on an addition.”

“On top of the already ludicrously expensive adoption fees? On top of the countless hours of therapy they all likely need? It's not economically sound.”

“I can afford it.”

“Oh, I had forgotten that I married a self made multimillionaire who throws away his money like it's trash. Well, I have a civil servant job and a civil servant salary, so excuse me for trying to be the practical one here.”

“One would begin to think you don't want to help these children.”

The officer stopped walking alongside him and for a moment he was deathly still. “Don't you dare suggest that, Jean Valjean. Don't you dare tell me that I don't feel anything. I have felt nothing more acutely. Not all of us had loving families. Do you think I will ever forget bouncing between foster homes? The neglect? The abuse? My parents died in prison, and there was no older sister to care for _me_.”

“I did not mean to imply…”

“That I was a heartless bastard? I cried the first day we came back from that place, did you know that? I went out to the car and cried after you had fallen asleep. I almost drove back to pick up that one kid whose dad died in Iraq. But I didn't, even though he had clung to me and called me Father. Do you think that doesn't sit with me every day? What might have been?”

“Sweetheart…”

“Do you think wherever he is now, he thinks about how he was rejected? I know I did. I remember each couple who passed me by. I remember the families who tried, too. But, I needed so much help and there were so many of us…”

“We can give them all of  attention they need.”

“I tried to kill myself a couple days before I joined the police academy.”

Valjean who had still be standing at the cart, put down whatever item he had been holding and went to his husband. “Baby…”

“I was going to jump off this bridge that I used to walk on as a kid. I had puts rocks in my shoes so that I would sink and drown. I had written a letter to the academy, had it addressed, and in the mailbox. Then, there was a shooting star and I couldn't. Because the star had perished in my place, and there was a moment where I finally felt at peace.”

“God works in mysterious ways.”

Javert half-sobbed, half-chuckled. “It wasn't anything so holy, I'm afraid. There was a meteor shower that night; I didn't realize until later.”

Valjean just made soothing noises, smoothing his hand down the arms of his lanky husband.

“If one of those kids were to come to harm because of us, I don't know if anything could stop me from going through with it.”

“Oh baby, you're going to be such a good dad.” There were kisses placed on gleaming cheeks. “The kids all adore you. We could barely pry Enjolras off your leg. Anyone would love to see you as their father, even myself.”

A slow, uneven chuckle. “Don't say such disgusting things.” Javert straightens and rises to his full height. “You have eleven years on me, calling me anything to that degree would be absurd.” He walks over to the cart and appraises the haphazard collection of food items that Valjean has gathered. “If you want anyone to call either of us father, then we had best get better groceries. No self respecting 8 year old wants kale.”

Valjean did not quite roll his eyes.

“C’mon, the kids deserve some junk food I think.”

They now went calmly through the store, a small supportive hand on the officer's back. When they came to pay, with three carts full of groceries, Javert handed over cash before Valjean could even use his card. There was suddenly a flurry of movement and they were locked in a kiss at the elder’s behest. It was firm and passionate. It was a promise and a testament. It was every kiss on a page that read happily ever after.

When they left, one of the cashiers had to excuse themselves to the bathroom to sob.

They didn’t come to the store for a month. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays passed by and the employees had seen neither hide nor tail from the pair.

There were rumors of a murder-suicide, while others had heard they had moved to a different state. Those who went by the factory claimed that Valjean was selling it. Then one day someone saw the pair at a furniture store nearby looking at beds and everyone let out the breath they didn’t know they were holding. However, they were not truly at ease once more until they actually came back.

When they did, they were a sight to behold. It was a Tuesday, but neither was dressed in work uniform. They were dressed in t-shirts and looked dead tired with bags under their eyes. But they were smiling, Valjean’s was big and showed his teeth while Javert’s was small and seemed a little uneasy. There were five children all clinging to them in different ways.

The pair grabbed shopping carts, one for the groceries and one for the children. The smallest, a blonde boy of about three years old, was placed in the little area actually meant for children. He looked up kind of dejectedly at Javert, who buckled him in tightly; then he kicked him. The other four, two blondes and two brunettes, were pried off arms and legs and placed in the part of the cart that groceries were meant to be in. The three girls, two of about eight and one who was six, sat down diligently. However, the boy refused. His blonde curls bounced as he proclaimed his distaste for being expected to sit in this cart when he could walk perfectly fine without any assistance of the sort.

Javert bent down till their faces were almost even. “Enjolras, you understand that for safety, we can’t allow all five of you to roam around the store with us.” He nodded. “Well, then how do we let one person walk while the rest are in the cart?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, I can’t think of a way to justify letting you walk. If I say that you may walk because you are eight, then two of your sisters must also walk. If I say that you may walk because you’re blonde, then Eponine and Azelma will be the only ones in the cart. If I say that it is because you are a boy, then I must also let out Gavroche, who is much too rambunctious to manage today.”

The blonde seemed to ponder this for a moment. “So it is either all of us sit in the cart, or none of us. And it is not safe for it to be none of us.”

“Do you understand?”

There was a nod as the boy lowered himself fully into the cart. “We are all equal, so we must be treated equally.” There was a pause. “Is that what democracy is?”

“Exactly.” Javert straightened up and turned to his husband. “Are you alright? You look exhausted.”

Valjean smiled fondly at his husband. “No, I’m fine. I’m just...really happy.” He began to push the empty cart. “You take the kids, I’ve got the food.”

There was a decidedly jovial air about them the rest of the trip. Though they had a list, each turned to the kids conspiratorily when they found something they wanted and slipped into the cart when the other’s back was turned. The children were all giggling and the exaggerated shush they were given made them giggle harder. The when they got to the snack aisle, they were dead silent.

Valjean addressed them. “We’re going to let each one of you pick out one snack item, okay? You can have anything you want in this entire aisle, and you do not have to share with your siblings. But you can only have one, so pick wisely.”

They began to make there way down the aisle very slowly as the kids searched diligently. Then came a tiny voice. “Could I have some of those?”

“Of course!” Valjean smiled as he reached for the box of raisins. He handed them to the child. “Now, Cosette I need you to hold on to these really tightly okay.” She grabbed the box hesitantly before clutching it to her chest.

“Okay.”

There was a quiet chuckle from the taller man. “You’re rubbing off on them Jean, soon they’ll be wanting vegetables and healthy food.” One of the girls made a face at that. “Well, maybe not Eponine. Do you see anything you want?”

The brunette nodded. “Twinkies.”

“There we go, a girl after my own heart.”

They walked a bit further before another girl they called Azelma spoke up, asking for barbecue chips. Enjolras grabbed a pack of fruit snacks and declared that he too was finished searching. They were in the aisle for another five minutes as Gavroche looked.

“Can we just pick something for him? He’s only three.”

“Yeah, he eats anything.”

“Everyone gets to pick, even three year olds.” Valjean crossed his arms somewhat defiantly.

“They have a point, he might be overwhelmed by the amount of choice.” Javert gestured around the shelves. “There are a lot of options.”

Almost no one hears the first ‘Daddy’.

Javert’s talking about some parenting book he listened to online and how it said to introduce choices between only two or three objects at a time. The second time it’s a little louder, but it doesn’t even occur to anyone to acknowledge it.

Then there’s a pull on Javert’s sleeve. He looks down. “Daddy. Pudding!” Gavroche is pointing up at a high shelf.

No one moves for a second. The new parents look like they can’t decide if they want to cry or not. Valjean takes in a slow breath. “What kind, Gav?”

“Brown!”

He grabs the chocolate pudding and hands it to the boy. “Now be careful not to drop it, okay?”

“Okay Papa.”

As they’re paying their eyes and noses are so red, one of the cashiers almost goes to ask them if it’s allergy season already.

* * *

It does not take anyone long to learn the dynamics of the new family and the personalities of the children. It’s easy to see how everyone gets along.

Enjolras is the eldest, by a full four minutes over Cosette, and is a bit of a snot. He’s well spoken, but prone to righteous anger over seemingly unimportant things. He doesn’t follow directions well, but there’s a certain tone of voice or authority that he obeys instantly without question.

Cosette is the quietest and the kindest. She always drops her allowance in a donation bin and stays dutifully by her fathers’ side. She asks for permission at every moment and seems to need a lot of reassurance. 

Eponine isn’t used to not being the eldest any more. Middle child or not, there’s a pronounced older sister vibe in her. She is dutiful by nature and a touch severe in her opinions and actions. 

Azelma is the hardest to pin down, because she seems quite like fluid. With Javert she becomes a quiet child, with Valjean she often has little conspiratorial jokes, and with her siblings she seems to be awkward in her acceptance as a middle child.

Gavroche could make someone tear their hair out. He’s ridiculously stubborn and more than once have they heard Valjean’s voice raise very slightly when addressing him. Javert, strangely, seems amused by rambunctious and reckless actions. He’s almost wistful.

There was a common thread between all the children in that they loved their parents unconditionally. Javert was Daddy and Valjean was Papa, and there were hugs and kisses. They would know who to ask for a piece of gum, or what they could say to one parent that they could not the other. They knew who gave better advice on this topic or who was better homework help. Daddy was stricter, but he would let them visit the police station and play with sirens. Papa was likely to ignore misbehavior because he hated to see the children upset, but he was also firm enough to prevent them from running wild. Their methods may have differed, but combined they were a parenting force to be reckoned with.

Javert started coming in by himself on Mondays to grab food after work. He’d grumble something about PTA meetings, potlucks, and how he doesn’t actually know how to cook. He usually settles on a plate of precut meat and cheese, though occasionally he springs for some cookies or other communal dessert. He has paused over a box of donuts multiple times and when questioned about it there’s a laugh. “A cop who likes donuts? Those old cronies don’t need the cannon fodder.”

Valjean seems to be the one who goes on field trips. He comes in by himself to buy bandages, apple slices, cheese sticks, pretzels, and little baggies to proportion the snacks out. He’d make small talk about where the field trip was to, or why he thought bandages were necessary for a trip to the local theater, or how he always ended up feeding the entire bus without meaning to. Between five kids, he’s probably been on more field trips in one year than any man on earth, but he bears it well.

The pair of them always come in together as it neared career day. They would appear around lunchtime just to pick up something small because they had been to three different classrooms that morning in just one school. They’d grab an energy drink or two for Javert and some fruit infused water for Valjean. There would be comments on how the kids loved the free t-shirts or how one could have heard a pin drop as Javert told a story of a police chase. There would be claims that this was the last year, but it never was.

So even though the family only came in on Saturdays now, it didn’t truly feel like they were gone any less. 

* * *

Enjolras was always getting injured over the years and Javert always seemed to be the one to deal with it. There were always bruises and scrapes on his knees from overzealous actions without thinking things through or just general clumsiness that overcame most boys who grew up to be so lanky. By the time he started middle school it evolved into schoolyard fights that left him with black eyes and bruised cheeks. The first time it had ever happened, Javert brought him into the store with a sigh.

“Would you like to tell me one more time why you look like a plum?”

“You said that if someone punches me, then I should punch them back.”

The police officer seemed weary. “While I understand that, this needs to stop now. I can’t keep getting called away from work like this, desk job or not.”

“What am I supposed to do? Repress all the parts of me that make me who I am? I thought being a teenager meant finding yourself.”

“I’m not telling you to be someone else...just, I want to know why it so often has to come to blows with you.”

Enjolras, emboldened in his old age of thirteen, takes a defiant stance in front of the police officer. “I say or do something that is not socially acceptable; such as calling my parents Daddy and Papa even though I’m a teenage boy, or sticking up for the transgender kid in my class, or expressing an interest in guys over girls. The imbeciles who cannot process this deviance from heteronormative poppycock insult me. As a response, I point out the flaws in their arguments and personalities. They lack the verbal skill to respond and choose to hit me instead.”

“Fitting in isn’t necessarily a bad thing you know.”

“If everyone is such a ninny, then maybe I don’t want to fit in.”

Javert laughs dryly. “You better hope that statements like that don’t get out when you run for President in twenty-two years.”

“Honesty is a virtue, even if brutal.”

“Well brutal honesty is probably the last thing you want to use with your father tonight if you don’t want to be kept out of school for a few days. Let’s get a pint of ice cream, then we’ll head back to the office and you can use an ice pack until my shift ends. At least if the swelling goes down Jean will have less of a conniption.”

There are three more black eye incidents before Enjolras turns sixteen and learns how to intimidate brutes from afar. Each time it’s Javert, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and the promises not to tell Valjean about what happened.

Valjean for all intents and purposes was stressed enough without Enjolras’s help. When the oldest kids were just eleven, he had been approached by a local group asking him to run for mayor. It had been Enjolras who had insisted that he do it much to his chagrin. He had won quite easily, but winning the election was always easier than the job. Between kids, the factory, mayorship, and trying to be an attentive husband he had more on his plate than any sane man could chew.

It was for this reason that Enjolras had begun to list his other father first on emergency forms. Valjean’s nervous energy often simply made him feel anxious for an escape and there was a level headedness to Javert that let a man unwind. Though he seemed to love his parents  equally, there was an observable respect for the officer that was not present for the businessman.

* * *

 

Cosette was vastly different than her twin. She was a little too shy to be threatened for voicing her beliefs and a little too friendly to be bullied for being an outcast. Those who did not know better would label her a follower. When she was given a rule by her parents or some other authority figure, she was always quick to follow the order without so much as a questioning glance. She purchased healthy snacks, made sure to wash her hands, watched over her younger siblings, and tried to give all of her change to anyone who might have needed it.

The trained eye could tell you that there was much more than just that. Cosette was nothing if not observant. She was quiet enough not to be noticed and often overhead things that she probably should not have. She always seemed to know whose father had just died, or who had just given birth, or who needed a kind smile. The employees adored her in the same way that one adored a puppy or a kitten or any true innocent of the world.

When she was fourteen, there was a string of violent crimes in the area. Both of her parents were working longer hours and the kids were out in public less. They still attended school and their extracurriculars, but there was a decided tenseness in the air.

“Papa?” Cosette was in a leotard and a jacket- fresh out of ballet practice. Her father’s eyes darted around everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Yes Cosette?”

“I’ve been wondering about taking some other classes at the rec center. Did you know that there is a self-defense course offered on Tuesday nights?”

Her father paused. “Did your father put you up to this?” She shook her head and he studied her demeanor very carefully. “Are you absolutely sure this wasn’t his idea? He hasn’t stopped putting fliers on my desk when I’m not looking.”

“I noticed-” her eyes flitted to the ground for a single moment “-I took one and looked it up. They have levels for every age and really good reviews. I was thinking that maybe the five of us, or at least Ponine, Zelma, and I, should maybe look into making ourselves a bit safer, y’know.” She punctuated her statement with a bit of a shrug and some avoidant eyes.

There was a sigh from her guardian. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe here. We’ve been taking every precaution to make this town safer, so you don’t have to worry about things like this.”

She looked up with a slight snarl of frustration. “It’s not about being scared; it’s about preparation. It’s about gaining knowledge so that I can be safe no matter if I’m in our town or New York or London or Dallas. You can’t always protect us.”

“I’ve tried so hard to make this world a better place for you kids.”

“You’re the strongest man I know, but no one can change the entire world by themselves not you, not Enjolras, not me.” She puts a hand on his arm, gentle but firm. “Let me ease the burden once and awhile, okay?”

He wrapped her in a hug. “You’re all growing up without me. What am I going to fret about when you grow up and leave me?”

“We're not going away anytime soon. Gavroche isn't even in double digits yet.”

He placed a kiss to the top of her head. “You will all get tired of us old men soon enough and you’ll go off and date boys and never think of us again.”

“Never.”

* * *

Eponine was not a particularly demanding child, but she was strong willed and stubborn. Often those inside the store witnessed her arguments with either Enjolras over rather trivial matters. There was a noticeable fire in her eyes as she snuck snack cakes into grocery carts.

She only ever seemed to have two hobbies: reading, for which she often lugged around books of all sorts, and debate, for which she joined the high school team. On days that she didn’t have books with her, she could be found arguing with her siblings or bouncing debate approaches off anyone who was willing to listen, usually Enjolras.

Eponine was fiery and uncontrollable and often at odds with her fathers, though never for long. Part of her simply seemed to thrive off the conflict and as the years went on the conflicts lessened in frequency but gained in severity. She acted out in ways that neither parent seemed particularly prepared for, but simultaneously began to argue less over the trivial parts of life. The biggest argument seemed to come when she was sixteen.

“I’ve done the research.”

Valjean bit his lips, but did not look at his daughter. “I understand that, however I do not think that a motorcycle is the best thing for you right now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s incredibly dangerous and you could be hurt.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got to understand that your father and I are very concerned about your well-being. You haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

“You act like I don’t know how to drive. I’ve had my regular license for six months!”

“A car has a lot more protection than a motorcycle.”

“I know you used to own a bike, I've seen the pictures.”

“That’s exactly why you should listen to me about this.”

She roller her eyes and dumped a package of snack cakes into the cart. “Y’know it's kinda hard to listen to an ex-con tell me anything about safety or following the law.”

“Ep…”

“I get it, you're not my biological parents. They’re criminals and I don’t want anything to do with them for the rest of time, jail or not. And I mean I love you guys really, but it's just so hard sometimes. Like, am I biologically disposed to be like this?” She gestured kind of incredulously at herself.

“You’re Eponine, that's all you need to be. We love you because you are you.”

“But, it's like, Enjolras has his social justice, Cosette has dance, and I just feel like I've just become this punk kid that everyone who knows the Thernadiers and their bullshit expects me to be.”

Valjean did not move to hug her, but instead he touched her lightly on the arm. “Do you actually want a bike, or do you want one because you think it completes the image you're creating for yourself?”

She shrugs away from the touch after just a moment. “Both, I guess. I dunno.” She casts her eye on the floor and curls her fingers around her leather jacket and effectively ends the discussion then and there.

As she scuttles slightly ahead of her father, she misses the moment he grabs another pack of snack cakes and adds it to the cart. 

* * *

Azelma was the hardest to distinguish from her siblings. It had little to do with her appearance or age, but merely her ability to blend into the background of any crowd. She was unfailingly polite at the best of times and silent at the worst of times.

Over time it became apparent that she was very impressionable. The reason that she blended in so well was that she imitated all of her family members at one time or another. One of the psychology majors they had hired whispered something about mirroring, before someone slapped him away.

Then suddenly one day she seemed to have a presence. She was still quiet, still polite, but she was just present in a way she had not been before. There were questioning glances thrown all around until someone overheard something about theater, or saw her in a local production, or maybe she just wore a cast shirt at some point.

“Is it out yet Daddy?”

Javert looks like he's a bit frustrated, but he still checks the phone dutifully. “Not yet.”

She's fourteen and awkward and in her first year of high school and all of it shows. “I just, I think I got it.”

“You’ve certainly expended a lot of effort towards the audition.” He glances around the store. “I'm in the mood for a soda, do you want one?”

“I can't, I'm going to be in a musical, it's bad for the voice.”

“The practice doesn’t even start till next week, Zel. A Coke might calm your nerves.”

She thinks it over for an almost imperceptible amount of time before agreeing. “Maybe just this once, but we should buy me some more water for my lunch on practice days.”

“Next time we go shopping I promise.”

There's a slight buzz from the pink phone Javert has been given charge over. Azelma kind of pauses and goes a little white. “Is that it?” She, short as she is, sends big eyes up at her imposingly tall father.

There's a sigh once again, but he does what is asked of him. “It's out.”

She screeches just a little bit. “Check it!”

Javert stoops down slightly to talk to her. “Before we check, I'd just like to say that  _ if  _ you don't get the part you wanted it doesn't mean that it's a bad thing. It's like that episode of  _ The Brady Bunch  _ where Peter-”

“You’re stalling!”

He scrolls for a moment or two, then clears his throat. “Congratulations, Little Red Riding Hood, you start rehearsal on Tuesday.”

There here was a scream and then she wrapped her arms around her father's spindly legs. “I knew it! I knew it! I have to find out when the show premiers so everyone can come! I got a lead!”

Javert strokes her hair. “I think this calls for some sparkling apple cider.”

“You can’t always lavish me with food.” Her father opened his mouth as if to point out that liquids were not food, but she continued. “Besides, I think grape juice is better.”

He chuckled slightly. “Good choice, we'll get a big bottle and we can all use some of those old wine glasses your father and I have lying around.”

Azelma lets go of his legs and smiles up at him, big and bright. “Are you going to do this every time I get a part?”

“Nonsense. When you premiere on Broadway, you get wine.”

* * *

There was something about Gavroche that made him endearing despite the constant terror that he subjugated everyone around him to. He was fast as lightning, full of energy, and loud as a fog horn. By the time he could no longer fit inside the grocery cart he began to sprint around the store at breakneck speeds. Valjean would often be abandoned with the food and the other kids, because Javert in all his spindliness was also quite swift on his feet.

Things would often end up broken or in the wrong location, but eventually, especially when Gavroche was still rather young, the child would tire and willingly submit himself to his father’s arms. A tired Gavroche was still a very much awake one, and this was the time when the staff of Digne’s loved him the best. He was funny, genuinely funny even from a young age. He told jokes that didn’t quite land and teased his siblings with barbs that were not really apt, but he was hilarious.

Most of the hilarity had to do with his insistence that he was really much older and more capable than the others thought him. He would attempt to reach items on shelves far above his height and refuse the offered help of his siblings or parents. Often he would start climbing up whatever surface lay at hand such as shelves or an abandoned grocery cart or one of his fathers. There were times that he would even climb up the employees that he was fond of and Gavroche was fond of every employee. In turn, every employee was fond of Gavroche.

Gavroche could not see over the customer service desk when he arrived at it, only eight years old at the time. Someone asks him where his dads are and he looks like he almost wants to burst into tears. Instead he pulls a brave face and says that he's running away, but that he doesn't know how to get anywhere else other than school and home and he wants to buy a map.

One of the cashiers takes him to another part of the store to get something to eat and drink while others frantically try to work out how to call Valjean or Javert. The old business card is still lying around in the manager’s office for some reason and it patches them through to the factory. The secretary seems annoyed at first, the call clearly coming in just before his work shift ended. But after a moment of pleading, he gives up Valjean’s cell phone number.

“Hey, Gavroche is here.”

There is something between a broken sob of relief and a prayer on the other end of the line. “We'll be there in five minutes.”

The couple arrive in three minutes. They're speed walking in the door and, age be damned, the second they see him they start sprinting.  Valjean’s wearing remnants of his suit and Javert is wearing sweatpants and a tank top and they look like they've been through eighty circles of hell in the past couple of hours.

Valjean crushes Gavroche into a hug. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I can take care of myself.”

“Why didn't you get off the bus from school today?”

“I ran away.” The parents both tense up.  “I grabbed some clothes, toothpaste, and my allowance.”

Javert crouches down and kind of awkwardly wraps his arms around whatever part of his son he could reach. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a choked sound comes out.

Valjean finds his voice faster. “Why Gav? Are you upset with us?”

“You guys didn't want me anymore.” Gavroche looks close to crying now. “I heard...I-I heard...D-D-Daddy say my parents...didn't want me...or love me...and that they wouldn't care if I were to d-d-di-die.” He's completely sobbing at this point and clinging to Valjean.

Javert is pressing kisses into the mess of blonde curls on his head with a little too much force. “I didn't mean us, never us Gav. I was having a bad day, but I wasn't mad at you.”

“Do you remember the people you used to live with?” Valjean paused just long enough to get a response of no. “Well, they were your biological parents and they were bad people. They hit Cosette and Enjolras and they barely fed any of you.”

“They were put in jail,” Javert offers quietly, “but I found out yesterday that they're going to be out very soon. And I'm scared that they're going to hurt you.”

There are some sniffles. “So you do want me?”

“Yes, so much Gav. We're just so scared that the Thenardiers are going hurt you. We don't want you to ever have to deal with such evil people, blood related or not.”

“You won't let them take me back, will you?”

Javert tilted his son's head up. “Look at me. I promise that there is no person on earth who could ever take you from us. I would do anything to keep you and your siblings safe.”

“Anything?”

Javert nods and presses a kiss to his forehead. “If they ever try to get in contact with you, then we're going to file for a restraining order.”

“And?”

“And if they try to set foot on our property, then I will hurt them before they can hurt you.” Javert’s face looks rather severe.

The look Valjean shoots at his husband is worried. When he only gets a shake of the head in response, he sighs. “Gav, do you want to come home? Your siblings are worried sick.”

The boy nods quickly, face starting to stream with the tears he tried so valiantly not to shed. His fathers both try to carry him, but he refuses preferring instead to cling onto Valjean’s leg.

The family exit very quietly, with Javert slightly behind, quietly muttering that he was a horrible parent, and Gavroche gasping for air amidst his silent sobs.

Javert tries to come back the next day, in the same clothes looking like death personified, to purchase alcohol and cigarettes. The cashier refuses and insists on accompanying him back home. She claimed that once they arrived she pressed a business card for her therapist in his hand and let him have the dignity of entering the house by himself. No one makes an effort to tell Valjean, it really should be something that Javert does for himself, but they all keep an eye on Javert for a few months.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to put accent marks, but it was difficult to do, so sorry world.
> 
> Next up, our blonde twins meet two cashiers who are very new to town.


End file.
